


God of the cruel, feed him to his very grave upon his empty hopes

by proudandbroken



Series: they'll never ever find the way to heaven's light [2]
Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blasphemy, Catholic Character, Catholic Guilt, Demonic Possession, Forbidden Love, Guilt, Hallucinations, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Canon, Regret, Religion, Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Roman Catholicism, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 14:24:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17205035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proudandbroken/pseuds/proudandbroken
Summary: "Marcus… help me. Something is here… I’m scared… please…”, he whimpered once he heard the call had been picked up, hating himself at how broken his voice sounded.Whatever he expected from this call, it was not words of comfort. Not a promise to come back.“Hang on darling, I’m coming. Stay strong for me just a while longer.”





	God of the cruel, feed him to his very grave upon his empty hopes

_Stay. Don’t go. Please don’t leave me alone. I can’t do this on my own. I need you. Please. Stay with me._

Never-ending regret and unspoken words. A heavy silence weighing over him, dragging him even deeper down into a bottomless pit of self despair.

Just another mistake on an endless list.

He should have said something. Marcus would have stayed. Had he just opened his stupid mouth and said one of those words. It would have been so easy. And he would not have been alone in this moment.

But he had remained silent, had let his pride win. There wasn’t any strength to protest left in him anymore. he could only hold on, wishing the comfort of this last embrace would never end.

Perhaps it was pathetic, how his fingers had tightened around the fabric of Marcus worn jacket, how he still remembered to this day the texture of the old leather, scratchy and weathered against his skin. And how he had willed himself not to cry into the warmth of the neck he had buried his face against. A testament of strength he never knew he possessed. 

He had rejoiced in the embrace, enjoying the feeling of those strong arms around him for he knew it would be most likely the last time he would get to feel those arms around him.

There was no way for him to stay. Not willingly apparently. And who was he to stand in his way, to force him to remain in a place he so clearly wanted leave. To become the burden that locked him in this prison. He would never become such a monster. If Marcus could not bear the thought of having him at his side then he had to accept it. No matter how much his heart broke once he realized that he was not as wanted as he craved to be.

And he almost felt ashamed at how much he wanted him. How much he craved the touch of a man that was neither God, nor innocent in any way.

How many times did he fall onto his knees in the shower, the prayer of a name that was not God’s on his lips. A blasphemous sacrifice for his sanity.

_Forgive me Father for I have sinned_ , he had whispered almost bitterly as he watched the sin of his release washing down the drain. The disappearing evidence of his betrayal. Gone, as if it never had existed. Only the shame in his memory remained.

It was not shame for wanting a man. That was something he had long since come to terms with. It was a desire he had never planned to act upon but still remained a part of him. And he had accepted it, chosen to live without those carnal pleasures. It did not matter if it was a woman or a man he wanted. There was no one he wanted so much to break his vows. And it had been easy for him. So easy he had almost forgotten he had those desires. After all there had been only God, for so many years. His only choice. A marriage without a consummation. And yet he had been happy. Until he wasn’t. Until it was not enough anymore. Until God was not enough anymore. Until he suddenly wanted all those pleasures he had denied himself for so long and started to doubt the vows he had taken once with such a passion.

Instead it was shame for wanting a man who would never return his feelings. A man he shared a room and sometimes a bed with. Who was close to him and touched him. All without him knowing the depth of what he felt. And he felt almost filthy and how much he enjoyed those touches, the embraces and how he craved more and more. It was shame for the loss of control that came with the strength of his feelings.

A sinful secret he was too scared to tell. For he did not want to be left alone, to loose the happiness he had somehow gained in the last month. Until he did.

It was not fair. If God was supposed to be so merciful then why did he want to take the only good thing that has happened to him away from him. He had been good, he had kept quiet, did not show anything of those feelings. And yet God had forced him to leave.

But he had not been a good boy. Not really. Because God punished sinful behavior. And he had been very sinful. And perhaps this was his way of punishing him for his sins, for his blasphemous behavior, for doubting his vows, for his never ending lies to him.

Thou shalt not take his name in vain. And yet he had done so. Praying to another in the moments of pleasure, forgetting the vows he had taken for a short and bitter moment of satisfaction. An imagination of what the real thing would feel like.

Thou shalt not have any gods before me. Then why did he somehow forget God existed when he fell to his knees? Why did he pray to false Gods for nothing but earthly pleasure. Suddenly there was no Lord in heaven, only the imagination of rough hands on his skin, their touch bringing him an entirely different eternal salvation than the bible promised.

Sometimes he dreamed. Of a strong body above him, pressing him into the silky sheets. Of bruising kisses that stole the breath right out of his lungs. His back arching into the imaginary touch of teasing fingers on his skin. A thirst for intimacy he hadn’t felt in such a long time. Until he woke, gasping for air from a dream that could never be reality. A dream that would only end with him on his knees again, praying in sin and solitude for release, for forgiveness to those false gods.

And all of this right next to the man who knew nothing of his sins. Who never even sensed the want pulsing through his veins as they laid next to each other, barely any feet apart.

Perhaps Marcus knew. Perhaps he sensed his shameful thoughts. Perhaps that was the reason why he left. Because he could not bear it to be next to him anymore, to share quarters with him.

How could he serve God when in this thoughts he would rather worship Marcus. How could he do what was required of him when his thoughts always drifted to the man standing next to him.

It was more likely Marcus left because he wanted to protect him. After all there was no chance that he would know about the depth of his feelings. Or that’s what he kept telling himself. Because it somehow lessened the hurt. He could live with a purpose behind his pain. He could not live with being the reason for it. It would only break his heart even more

 

He was weak. To weak to do what he attempted to continue on his own. It was risky. Even riskier than before but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did. He was continuing on this path of self destruction, steadily towards the point of no return, well aware that there would be no turning back, not once he passed it. And yet he could not bring himself to care.

He had lost the control over his life. He was nothing more but a too skinny body consisting of too many cuts and bruises. Gone were the muscles he once had, replaced by battered skin stretching over protruding bones. A body starved from far more than food.

He was wasting away. Into nothingness. A man without a purpose. Lost in this endless race of the rats. Down, down, down the rabbit hole. Deeper into the madness that he had been dragged into. Lost, without anyone to help him, to guide him and to throw a lifeline to bring him back into reality. He had lost his source of strength. It had left him on that fateful day. Gone, without even looking back.

Sometimes he wondered how he was even able to continue performing the exorcisms. Yet it did not stop him from trying. If he could save one more person it would have been worth it. Anything to distract him from the stabbing pain piercing his chest.

 

He saw things. Things that should not have been there. Things that existed only for a few fleeing moments and were gone as soon as he even blinked just once. 

He saw people. People who should not be there. People who were in places there could not be. Staring at him, never saying any word. Until they disappeared into nothingness, making him question if he really saw them or if they were another sign of his advancing insanity.

He would never know. There was no one he could ask. There was no one he would trust to tell him the truth. To help and support him. Except for Marcus of course. But he was not there. He was gone. God knows where. How funny. He kept praying to God and there was no answer. He should have known there was a punishment for taking God’s name in vain. He should have known better, known that his blasphemy would lead him onto the path to hell.

One morning he woke up and for a moment he felt safe and warm. Gone was the never ending cold he was always feeling. Instead there was a solid warmth against his back and a strong arm across his chest. Soft kisses against his neck and a feeling of safety that was so real he wanted to lose himself in it. Until he turned around and found nothing but an empty bed. Gone was the warmth, replaced with the chill of a barely heated room, making him shiver despite all the blankets around him.

It was just a dream. Nothing more but a dream. A dream that felt so real but yet was nothing more than an illusion. Or that’s what he kept telling himself. After all there was no other rational explanation for this.

Another night he found himself on his back, legs spread obscenely wide to accommodate the body between them as his mouth was claimed in a kiss so filthy he barely remembered how to breathe. Rough fingers moving over his skin so softly it was a stark contrast to the deep thrusts into his body. There was no God in heaven. Only Marcus’ name on his lips in a prayer for salvation.

But there was no release. Only the loneliness as he was ripped out of what seemed to be just another fantasy. Breathing heavily into the darkness of his bedroom, trying to realize what had just happened. Just another dream. A very real one, but still a dream. What it did not explain were thedark marks on his necks, the finger shaped bruises on his hips and the dull ache between his legs. An emptiness where he’d only moments before felt such a fullness.

He felt filthy. Unclean. Used and discarded like a cheap whore. Gone was the pleasure he felt only moments before. In the end there was only shame.

“Forgive me…”, he whispered into the darkness, unsure who he was even begging it for. Perhaps God. He deserved it. For he just kept breaking his vows again and again. Or maybe Marcus. For all those obscene fantasies he kept having, for not being able to move on. For being the weaker man in the end.

 

Once he came home to the smell of freshly cooked food and soft music playing in the background.

“Marcus?”

He did not want to get his hopes up, but it wouldn’t be the first time he had broken into his apartment. He almost wanted to sob with relief as he saw the tall, lanky figure emerge from his kitchen.

“Hello Tomas.”

It was Marcus. Or at least it looked exactly like him. Smiling at him, welcoming him home in such a domestic way he wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and never let him go again.

Still it felt off. Something was different. He could not explain it but this presence felt not like Marcus. It felt different. Dangerous. And it scared him. Was this one of his illusions?

“You are not real.”

“Oh but I am, darling”

“No. It’s just my mind playing tricks on me. You are not here.”

He had to be rational. No matter how much he actually wanted this to be real.

“Come, let us eat, darling.”

“No. This is only an illusion. It’s not real. It’s not real… it’s not real!”, he kept mumbling to himself. Until he looked up. And was greeted nothing but the emptiness of the room. A true testament to this madness that was slowly consuming him.

There was no food waiting for him. At least none that was freshly cooked. Instead there was only the disgusting smell of whatever had been left in his fridge, untouched for weeks and left to rotten into an unrecognizable pile.

No one would be waiting for him at home. Not ever. There would not be the comfort of returning to a loved one, the joy of domesticity. He did not deserve it. It was his punishment. Yet it did not stop him from craving it so desperately. Anything to dull the loneliness if only for the flicker of a moment.

Sighing he buried his face into the sleeves of his sweater, trying to get a grip of what was real and what not. Only that it was not his sweater. It had never been. Instead it had belonged to Marcus.Still did, probably. He had forgotten it in his hurry to leave. It had been left and abandoned in that motel room. Perhaps it was a sign from God. A source of comfort for him, the soft material warming his freezing body. And if he concentrated hard enough he could almost imagine that it was Marcus arms around him, holding him in a tight embrace and keeping him safe.

 

“Hello Tomas.”

It was fascinating how regularly he started to have those illusions. How many times did Marcus wait for him to come home. Only it was not Marcus. It would never be him.

“Go away.”

He was tired. So, so tired. And he certainly did not want to deal with this anymore. He only wanted to sleep, to escape this torturous reality.

“You still don’t want to believe.”

“Please. Leave me alone. You’re not real.”

He was alone, on his knees. Bitter tears streaming down his face as he tried to get rid of those torturous thoughts. It was not real. It could not be real. It was only his imagination. The pain of loneliness. He would accept nothing else. Never.

He was not willing to let this tiny flicker of suspicion in the back of his head grow any more. It was not a demonic possession. It could not be one. It was months since he’d last attempted an exorcism. He did not deal with that anymore. Not when he had completely lost his strength. Not when he wasn’t sure he could handle it on his own anymore. Not since he started to have those illusions. He wasn't that stupid to attempt the risk of trying to do an exorcism on his own with such a fragile state of mind. Not that he even had the energy to try it. He might have been slowly spiraling into insanity but he was not stupid. He would not risk the lives of other people when it was certain he would fail any task he set out to do.

 

“Hello Tomas. I’m back.”

“I’m sorry Tomas.”

“I shouldn’t have left.”

“Can you forgive me?”

“I love you, darling.”

Lies. Lies. Lies. Nothing more than fucking lies. It was not real. Marcus was not here. Of course he wasn’t. He never was It was all in his imagination. Again. Always. And yet it did not stop his bruised heart from soaking up those lies, from wanting to hear them.

“Stop. This is not real. Go away! Leave me alone!”

His screams were once more nothing but an echo in his empty apartment. He needed to get a grip on himself. He would not help himself by entertaining those visions anymore.

Was this imagining of a demonic possession just another way for him to feel closer to Marcus? Perhaps this was it’s purpose. It seemed to be a valid reason. One that was not so terrifying.

Or perhaps he just wanted to ignore the reality, the fact that there was a thing and it might have sought him out just because it wanted him. It would explain so much. But he was too scared to acknowledge it. Either way it did not matter. He had let it in, left the doors wide open in his grief for it to get comfortable, to put down it’s roots. He had denied it’s existence for so long, wanted not to believe. Anything was better than to acknowledge this failure. Everything Marcus had ever warned him about. He had failed him. He had failed God. In the end he had been to weak. No wonder Marcus had left. No wonder he could not deal with that anymore, could not deal with his incompetence anymore. He had made a mistake. A huge and deadly one. And now he had to pay for it.

 

“My, my, Father. That’s quite a predicament you got yourself into.”

He kept his eyes closed, curled up even more on his bed, trying to make himself as small as possible, as if it would suddenly stop being there if he tried to make himself invisible. 

“You want him, don’t you? You crave his comfort, even now. Even when you know he won’t come 

It looked like him. It had the audacity to actually take his form again, to taunt him in a way it knew would break him.

“Look at you, still wearing his clothes like a lovesick puppy. You will never learn, won’t you, _Tomas_?”

“Shut up…”

“He doesn’t care. He left you. It’s clear you were not good enough for him.”

“Shut up… please….”

Pathetic. He was pathetic. With his begging. As if it would make it stop it’s taunts. As if it wasn’t feeding off his desperation, growing stronger with each day.

“You don’t want to see the reality don’t you, Father? You’d rather live in your lovely illusion, dreaming of his touches. He won’t come back. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t want you.”

“Shut up! Stop lying to me!”

“You keep telling yourself that, Father. I can wait. I am patient.”

And it was gone. Just as abruptly as it had arrived, making him question just once more if he had not imagined all of it. Who even knew what was real and what not anymore? Not him.

 

It touched him. Again. Softly. Tender fingers brushing down his cheek. A kiss against his forehead and a soft embrace as they lied on the bed. And just like the fool he was he couldn’t help but lean into the touch. It was not real. Of course it was not real. But it did a good job at imitating the real deal. It almost felt like him, smelled like him. It was enough to fool him for at least a little bit. But what it could not do was to stop the longing deep inside his chest. And the comfort it still gave him. 

He could pretend. For at least a few precious moments. That it was not this thing touching him. That for once he could get the real deal. 

It was easier to pretend. It stopped the hurt. Momentarily. He was safe inside of his illusion. It was comforting. So comforting he almost wanted to stay. Forever. But he could not. Not ever. And the pain of ripping himself out of it was almost as bad as his heart breaking as he had watched Marcus leave.

Perhaps because the result was the same. In the end he was left alone. And his heart couldn’t care less if it was the real man or an illusion of him leaving.

He never thought it would make it only bolder. That it would not stay satisfied with those soft touches.

“Kiss me, Tomas.”

“I know you want it as much as I do.”

“Please, let me kiss you. Let me touch you and give you what you want. What we both want.”

“No. Stop!”

He couldn't take it anymore. With shaking fingers he took his phone, finger hovering over the call button as he finally forced himself to push it before he could decide against it. It seemed as if he had finally reached his breaking point, craving into the wish to hear his voice. The voice of the real man and not that thing which had visited him each night.

It took all his strength to keep him from panicking as he waited for the call to connect. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he should hang up. Pretend it never happened. Maybe he shouldn't have tried a call. But now it was too late. And there was still that part of him that wanted this call, that wanted to hear his voice, and if it was only him screaming to leave him alone. Apparently, he had reached that point of desperation.  


"Marcus… help me. Something is here… I’m scared… please…”, he whimpered once he heard the call had been picked up, hating himself at how broken his voice sounded.

Whatever he expected from this call, it was not words of comfort. Not a promise to come back.

“Hang on darling, I’m coming. Stay strong for me just a while longer.”, Marcus had pleaded before the line died and he nearly wept from relief.

But with relief came another entirely different regret. What if his call was too late. What if he couldn’t manage it to come back on time. Why hadn’t he picked up the phone earlier? Why, why, why? Not that he could change it anymore. It did not stop the bitter regret pulsing through his veins though. And the fear at the anger of this thing. It would not be happy. But Marcus was coming. And when he was there he could face anything. Even it’s wrath.

 

“How about a deal? What do you say Father?”

The tone of it’s voice was so sickeningly sweet it made him nauseous. Whatever it wanted, it could not be anything good. 

“What do you want?”

He was tired. To tired to fight it anymore. He did not want to teal with it anymore, with it’s illusions, with this taunting. He only wanted to rest. To be at peace.

“A simple exchange. Nothing more.”

“It can’t be that simple!”  


“Oh but it can. Take his place. Give in, let me in and I’ll release my claim on him.”

“You will leave him alone if I agree, if I take his place.”

He knew he shouldn’t believe it. Every word out of that thing’s mouth was nothing but a filthy lie. And yet he wanted to believe so desperately.

“Why yes of course Father.”

“Why?”

“I don’t care if I get what I want from you or him. You want to save him. Take his place. Nothing but a business transaction. It’s as simple as that Father.”

“You’re lying. This is a trick.”

“That you will never know.”, it smirked, knowing very well of the torment it was causing him. “Of course I can also leave and just take him. It’s him. Or you. I will have one of you. The choice is yours. Just don’t think too long. Tick, tock, Father. The clock is ticking.”

And it was gone. Just as instantly as it had appeared.

A choice. It left him a choice. Only that it was not really one. He knew it. And he knew that it knew it just as well. Marcus would never be here on time. If he would ever come, that is. Perhaps that phonecall was just another illusion, created by this thing to torment him, to give him hope. There was no hope anymore. Only a tiny flicker that his decision might have the right impact, that he would save his love.

 

“TIme’s up Father. I assume you’ve made your decision.”

“I did.”

It smiled. It had the arrogance to smile at him with such a disgustingly knowing smile, as if it had been certain that he would agree. Was he really that obvious.?

“You need to say it Father. Say the words and it will be done.”

Done. A word with such finality. There was no way back once he said those words. He almost wanted to hesitate, as if a tiny part of him questioned the worth of his sacrifice. Either way there was no way out. Not for him. He was too far gone. But if he could free Marcus it would be worth it. He would give his soul a thousand times if it ensured his safety.

_What is love?_ He had once asked his mother as a little child.

_It is the ultimate sacrifice one can give for another._ She had answered.

He didn’t understand it back then. Now he did.  
  
There was no regret. Not anymore. Not for his choice.

_Forgive me Marcus. Please forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me._

His last thoughts were of warmth and love, and eyes as blue as the ocean on a sunny day. The memories of a soft smile and strong arms enveloping him in an embrace. A loving kiss as he was finally claimed by the man he loved. In the end there was the hope that his sacrifice would be worth something.

Then darkness descended upon him.

 

 _I so longed that you might be happy with me_  
_but dead are my longings, it will never be._  
  
Hristo Botev - To My Mother

**Author's Note:**

> So when I wrote "darling your eyes were full of darkness" I thought it would be a simple standalone, but then I kept thinking we've seen Marcus side, but how about we explore what happened to Tomas to end up in this situation. Well this has been the story. (and it was probably more an excuse to write more angst and torment poor Tomas with a shitton of religious guilt)
> 
> As the first story this was written before I've seen season 2 so it's set in a post canon where Marcus left (bc I've seen those spoilers) but doesn't mention anything from season 2. Also I will be forever bitter we will never get more content about those two because damn I really need more!
> 
> Anyways I hope you enjoyed it despite the angst and I hope you have happier last days of 2018 than I do.
> 
> The titel is losely translated and based on a verse of the poem "My Prayer" by Hristo Botev.
> 
> As always English is not my first language and any comments and Kudos are always greatly appreciated.


End file.
